The Wapshot Chronicle - John Cheever [35]
Early in the morning she dressed and after breakfast hurried through her garden to catch the bus to Travertine. The rain was over but the day was sullen; the tail of the storm. There were only a few other passengers. One of these, a woman, left her seat in the rear when they had been traveling for a few minutes and sat down beside Honora. “I’m Mrs. Kissel,” she said. “You don’t remember me, but I recognized you. You’re Honora Wapshot. I have a very embarrassing thing to tell you but I noticed when you got on the bus—” Mrs. Kissel lowered her voice to a whisper—“that your dress is undone all down the front. It’s very embarrassing but I always think it’s best to tell people.”
“Thank you,” Honora said. She clutched her coat over her dress.
“I always think it’s best to tell people,” Mrs. Kissel went on. “Whenever people tell me I’m always grateful. I don’t care who they are. It reminds me of something that happened to me. Some years ago Mr. Kissel and I went up to Maine for his vacation. Mr. Kissel comes from Maine. He graduated from Bowdoin College. We went up in the sleeping cars. The train arrived at the station early in the morning and I had the most awful time getting my clothes on in that berth. I’d never been in a sleeping car before. Well, when we got off the train there were quite a few people there on the platform. The stationmaster was there, waiting for the mail, I guess, or something like that. Well, he came right over to me. I’d never seen him before in my life and I couldn’t imagine what he wanted. Well, he came right over to me and he said ‘Madam,’ he said in a low voice, ‘Madam, your corset is undone.’” Mrs. Kissel lifted her head and laughed for an instant like a young, young woman. “Oh, I’d never seen him before,” she said, “and I never saw him again, but he came right over to me and told me that and I didn’t resent it. Oh, I didn’t resent it at all. I thanked him and went into the ladies’ room and fixed it and then we took a carriage to the hotel. Those were the days when they had carriages.”
Honora turned and stared at Mrs. Kissel, seized with jealousy, her neighbor seemed so simple and good and to have so few problems on her mind. They were at Travertine then and when the bus stopped Honora got off and marched up the street to the sign painter’s.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Early the next morning Leander walked down the fish-smelling path to the wharf where the Topaze lay. A dozen passengers were waiting to buy their tickets and go aboard. Then he noticed that a sign had been hung on his wheelhouse. Then he thought at once of Honora and wondered what she had up her sleeve. The sign was painted on wood and must have cost five dollars. NO TRESPASSING, it said. THIS YACHT FOR SALE. FOR FURTHER INFORMATION SEE HONORA WAPSHOT 27 BOAT STREET. For a second his heart sank; his spirit seemed to wither. Then he was angry. The sign was hung, not nailed, to the wheelhouse, and he seized it and was about to throw it into the river when he realized that it was a good piece of wood and could be used for something else. “There won’t be any voyage today,” he told his passengers. Then he put the sign under his arm and strode through the group to the square. Of course most of the tradespeople in the village knew about the sign and most of them watched Leander. He saw no one and it was a struggle for him to keep from talking loudly to himself. He was, as we know, in his sixties; a little stooped, a little inclined to duck-foot, but a very handsome old man with thick hair and a boyish mien. The sign was heavy and made his arm lame and he had to change it from side to side before he got to Boat Street. His spirits by this time were fulminating. There wasn’t much common sense left in him. He pounded on Honora’s door with the edge of the sign.
Honora was sewing. She took her time getting to the door. First she reached for her stick and went around the parlor gathering up all the photographs of Moses and Coverly. She dumped these onto the floor behind the sofa. The reason she did this was that, although she liked having photographs of the boys around, she never wanted any of the family to catch her in such an open demonstration of affection. Then she straightened her clothes and started for the door. Leander was pounding on it.